After Dark
by Balviet123
Summary: A songfic for Zombie Love Song.  Zombie!RussixFem!France.  Please enjoy !
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay so I've been trying like 5 million times to get the link to work, and nothing seems to be working. Basically, go to and type in "Zombie Love Song Your Favorite Martian" and it should be the first one. Sorry for the problems this has caused.**

_ That girl._ For days, weeks even, Ivan had been watching and borderline stalking her. His skin crawled, his tongue had a mind of its own and his stomach growled when the thought of her came up.

To get closer to her, he had taken to finding as many memories as he could of her. Many men had had their hearts broken by her, and he knew some of what to watch for. If they ever met up.

It was daylight, though the sun was begging to be released to the horizon; surely she would be up by now. Ivan sighed, thinking of all the things he wanted to do and say to her. Nothing bad; he would never hurt her intentionally. If only he could feel what she felt. All he could see and hear were voices; memories of people who had died emotionally by she and physically by himself.

He closed his dead, dry eyes that were half-rotted, the irises contrasting the dead grey with the brilliant purple of his lifetime. Once, his eyes had been the one beautiful thing he had possessed that had been beautiful. Now, he had nothing. He possessed nothing beautiful. Those magical digits that made up her phone number glowed in the darkness, and he smiled, his teeth cracked and grey with the odd rust of blood staining them.

Taking what had been a phone to him in life, he dialed those numbers slowly, each button taking a long time to be pressed, for his fingers were awkward and nerves unresponsive.

A click as she picked up. "Hello?" She asked into the phone, voice light and cheerful. "Who is this?"

"My name is…Ivan." His name was difficult to remember, and his voice struggled to retain its chime it had had in life. So many things he missed…so many things he had taken for granted. And now he needed them all, but could have none of them back. He wanted his voice and real brain back; not one that remembered only because of memories of himself. "How are you?"

"Do you have a wrong number?" Fear, the dreaded emotion clouded her words, and he knew it was more than just because he was calling her. Was it his voice? Did she know he was stalking her? Why did females always get so scared? "I don't know any Ivan."

"Da…you do." Maybe using his own language would cause her to remember? They had never really _met_, but he needed to try everything.

"Please…never call me again." Another click as she hung up, leaving Ivan with only a dial tone as company.

What was he supposed to do? His voice was a curse; it made everyone fear him. And he couldn't just approach her; his skin was too ghastly for that.

His teeth ached; he needed to feed again. Her memory was a curse; there was no way he would be able to control himself while she was in his head.

"Francesca…why do you do this to me?" He asked aloud as he grabbed the half-eaten brain of one of her old lovers. This was his new favorite diet; the taste of her many exes made his stomach feel ever so full.

The memories of her filled his own parasitic brain, him wishing these were a way to make Francesca smile.

_This memory…it was a sweet one. She was staring at her old lover—a man named Charles. Like a doppelganger, I had become Charles. Iwas now her lover; one of the best feelings in the world._

_ "You think that because I am a woman you can defeat me in a fight?" She stared at me, blue eyes shining with a combination of anger and amusement. "That because I am a woman, I cannot handle a blade of my own country's creation?" Her milky brown hair gleamed, it pulled back in a sort of messy bun, trails of it fallen out and tickling the back of her neck._

_ It was then I looked down and saw that we both possessed a rapier, a blade I had never held before. It was heavy in my borrowed hands, the rough hilt chafing my bare hands._

_ "Of course not." His voice was blessedly smooth and masculine, as mine had once been. Before I died and was reborn by some foreign force. "Unless you think you'll fail, as you do at many other things."_

_ Francesca, bless her heart, laughed it off as a joke. If I had been in control, I would never have said such a thing. It was risky; what if Francesca found it offensive? "Charles, you're such a horrible person!"_

There, the memory ended. He had yet to see a sweet memory all the way through. They always ended with Francesca either angry or pleased with him, but never had he been kissed by those pale red lips. God, he wished he could feel them against his own, but he didn't know the consequences. Would the lovely Francesca be transformed into a creature as he had been? Or would a mere kiss have no consequences that would plague her existence.

"I need to see her through my own eyes." He said aloud, knowing there was no one to hear his desire. Life after death was so lonely when there was no one to share eternity with, but it never occurred to you that being a zombie forever would be so lonely until someone stole your heart.

He tore through his house, looking for something that would make him more presentable. He _had _to have something that wasn't defaced by body tissue and blood, didn't he? Even he, a once simple man, recognized that some clothes needed to be reserved for special occasions. He personally had spent months buying out clothes and food when he had first been turned, hoping that someone would find a way to change him back to normal.

As he searched for the perfect outfit to see Francesca, the love of his life and eternal existence, his mind drifted to the shaky memories of his sisters. He had two; one that was older and the other that was younger. In fact, he remembered them because he had eaten their brains as his first few meals. That was how he had learned his name and theirs; how he had learned who he was and who he had once been.

The two were so fresh in his mind, as though they hadn't been devoured by their beloved brother. Katy's face had been the most painful; her staring at Ivan in surprise that he had become one of those mindless, heartless creatures that thought only of feeding themselves. Natalya's face had been painful as well; she had always loved her brother. So to see him like that, devouring his sister's brain and flesh…it pained the pale girl with the light brown hair and icy blue eyes that Katy shared.

Ivan dug through his nearly empty closet, smiling as he grabbed Katy's old vanity kit. There was enough of—what was it called?—foundation to smooth over his rotted skin. And if he kept the remainder of his body covered, he would be fine. He first got dressed, donning his body with a dark blue sweatshirt, putting on the scarf he wore now only for warmth, for there was no reason to wear something to warm the heart that never ached and never viewed Katy as a really important memory. She had been a good meal; that's all everyone was. Everyone except Francesca.

"Francesca, please do not hate me because of what I am in person." He mumbled, clearing his throat to try and make his voice even and sounding somewhat normal.

He stared at the foundation, unsure of how to put it on. Dumping a good amount of it on his hands, he smeared it all over his gangrene face. He stared in a mirror while he did this, not wanting to make it too obvious that he was covered in something unnatural for a man to wear.

"I look better now." He smiled one of his creepy, awkward smiles that showed off his broken, dead teeth. Maybe if he kept his mouth relatively shut, Francesca wouldn't notice. There was no way he could possibly clean up teeth that were dead. "Now…for Francesca herself." His brain went off, dozens of pleasant memories flooding it.

Leaving his home, he stumbled through the streets, one address burning in his mind. It was painful; he thought of all the things that could possibly go wrong with this. His limbs were held together with what seemed to be string; fear was that they would fall off if he was not careful with his actions.

The streets were seemingly dark and lonely; people knew his face and avoided him at all costs. No matter what disguise he used, they could tell who he was by those purple irises and his height.

"Francesca…" He moaned like a true zombie, repeating her name over and over. She kept his brain alive and his body eager for more life. Before Francesca, he had hated both the sun and moon, loathing the presence of time itself.

Before long, her home was in view. In reality, hours had passed, but a dead mind couldn't comprehend the elapsed time periods. The air was cool and crisp; the moon high in the sky though it was day; a reminder that soon another day would pass with he still a slave of the night.

Peering in the window, he stared, he stared at her, sitting on one of her couches and reading. The way her hair framed her face; it complimented her European cheekbones and general facial structure.


	2. Chapter 2

She looked up, their eyes locking. In his haste for a reaction, he clutched his chest above where his heart should be, hoping that that would get him inside that house and perhaps into her loving arms, if he could love him.

Gasping, Francesca opened the door and stared at him. "Are you alright? What's wrong?" She led him inside, sitting him on one of her couches and smiling, though fear was in her eyes. "Please…tell me."

"…My name is Ivan." His voice cracked; returning to its undead tone. "I'm sorry…for calling you earlier. I thought you knew me."

Standing beside the couch, she smiled. "No. I have never met you before, but you seem to be a pretty…well…" She backed away, regretting what she was saying. She barely—no—_didn't _know him. He could be someone ridiculous and, well…a pervert. It made her cringe at the idea that he may have invited a pervert into her home, but she knew how to defend herself if need be.

"…I love you." He said, trying to change his voice to one that was more like the one he had had in the memory of Charles. "…I'm sorry." Speaking such words; what did he know of love or any other emotion? Zombies were forbidden from feeling anything; they cared solely for self-preservation. Or so the stereotype went.

"You…love me?" She stared, curious of why he had blurted such words out. "You don't know me. Are you sure you're alright?"

"No…" Ivan gasped, his heart now really hurting with the idea of being so close to the love of his unending life. All the time in the world and all the power he could ever want, but it was nothing without someone to spend it with. "I really…I've met you before. Believe me." He tried desperately to correct his voice now; perhaps it would make her care more for him.

Honestly believing him to be mentally ill, she felt pity for him. "Here, you can stay here for a while. If you'd like, I mean. You need help."

Nodding, Ivan laid his head back and smiled. "Thank you." He closed his eyes, trying to appear as though he were asleep. Zombies never slept, but he needed to make it seem like he could.

She smiled and handed him a blanket, covering his body with it. "You need sleep, do you? You just rest here; I'll keep you safe."

Ivan kept his eyes closed until he heard her leave the room. He then sat up, staring into space. There were so many things he wanted to say, and yet none could be said. He had tried, but she had taken him for a fool.

He rose from the couch, wandering around the house. He couldn't even call her name, for he needed to behave like a normal human who had never met her before, as was the part he was playing.

"Excuse me?" He asked as he approached the lovely Francesca from behind, worried that he may scare her. She was so kind; he would never wish to scare or hurt her in any way. It was in his nature; he was an undead being now. "What is your name? I feel as though I should know."

"My name is Francesca." She turned, smiling. "Is everything alright? I thought you were trying to sleep."

"No, I'm fine." His voice was raspy; trying to keep him without a voice. There was so much he needed to tell her, and fate was stealing that away. First he had been turned to a creature of death, then he had been struck with an arrow of love, and now his voice was disappearing. Would he be left with _anything _other than his destroyed body? "Francesca…I-I…I'm…I love you. And I'm…not crazy. I just…love you."

Francesca seemed to notice a difference in his tone, and she stared at him in horror, or so he registered it as. It could have been anything, but he was used to that adjective and expected it no matter what the situation. "Ivan, what's going on? Are you…alright?" The final word was hesitant; she was unsure of what to say to him. He had arrived without a reason except a need for help, and he seemed to be deteriorating at a rapid pace. What was wrong with him? Was he sick? Or was something more wrong with him?

"I'm just…losing my voice." He smiled a toothless smile, not wanting to scare her too much. She was so kind and gentle; Ivan was blessed to know her. And his teeth…they would send her running for the hills.

She smiled, nodding and touching his clothed arm. "You can stay here as long as you need to."

His cold skin crawled at the touch. A human female…touching him. It was blasphemy; unheard of. He anticipated the screams that would come forth when Francesca felt his temperature and saw his true face.

"I would…be happy to." He smiled more, none of his teeth yet visible. "Thank you, Francesca. You…you are a good person."

"I do try." She said oh so softly, his half-dead ears drinking in the nectar of her words. If she or he were to die, or if his ears were to finally fail…he wanted that voice implanted in his mind. There were just so many things…so many things he would miss if he were to finally leave this world. His time here was limited; soon all of the humans he could feed from easily would be gone. And then…then he would starve, or be forced to revert back to his primitive ways. If the hunger grew great enough, he would have to try and eat his own flesh. He had learned as a child that the human body could provide for itself if only you indulged in its natural production of flesh tissue.

He felt a certain sting in his eye socket that made him think perhaps if he were alive, they would be dried out. It _had _been some time since he had blinked for show; his eyes no longer really needed that kind of liquid moisture. It brought back flooding, fleeting memories he had gotten from his sisters, but they were just flashes and nothing more. No, real memories were reserved for the living. Undead creatures possessed no such things.

"Ivan? Are you alright?" She touched his face, sending a flurry of nerves rocketing through him. His body stiffened, for there was no heart rate to be sped up nor was there adrenaline that could be pushed through those empty veins.

"Yes…I am fine." His voice began to return; he could feel it shape in his throat. "Please do not touch my face. It…I'm rather sick right now and don't want you to catch it."

_If she only knew._ If she only could understand how sick he really was; how much he hoped she would not become like him. Even if it meant her dying and him living alone forever, so be it. She was too immaculate and worthy of Heaven to be bound to the dying world with him.

Nodding, she retracted her hand, albeit slowly and cautiously. He was just so…strange. So wary and afraid of everything, yet he appeared to be so strong and powerful.

The hunger ached at him, and he bit his rotting bottom lip. "Francesca, I have to go." He broke away from her, backing from the reaches of her spell. "I'm sorry."

She grabbed his hand, eyes begging for him to stay. "Why? Your chest…you're probably still hurt. Please…don't go."

Staring at her, Ivan swallowed. "I swear to you, I'll be back. Please...just release me."

Reluctantly, she loosened her grip to free him. "Alright. But please come back. I don't believe you're really fine."

Only barely hearing his words, Ivan ran from that place and chased his hunger, focusing on someone who would be absolutely helpless and pathetic, but wouldn't make too much noise while being devoured.


	3. Chapter 3

_There._ He caught sight of someone; a waitress it seemed, on her break for lunch. She was unsuspecting, which made the hunt all the more interesting. When a prey was foolish and made themselves appealing to the taste buds, it made feeding on them that much more delicious. The only person he wouldn't do that to was Francesca, fir she did not deserve to be eaten by the man who loved her. He wasn't a mindless zombie; he just had neither heart nor memories to give him guidance.

The heartless man followed her, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. They needed to be away from people, but he could disappear with someone and come back without her and with blood all over him. It would raise suspicion. And if they saw his eyes…it was all over. Each movement was critically planned; each second scheduled for him. He had to feed and to stay away from the prying eyes of mortals.

As he stalked her, Francesca followed his path, staying nearby. Something was wrong to her, about how he had suddenly decided to just…leave. Things like that just weren't…how to say, normal. You didn't disappear after begging to be let go. Upon seeing his body language as he literally followed in that waitress's footsteps; it bothered her.

The strike. He had planned it, attacking when she had been alone. The attack had been so sudden; she had been frozen with fear. Her eyes remained open, and so they would stay. He cared not so much as to make it appear that his meal was just asleep. No, a meal was a meal, and nothing could change that.

Breaking the skull was always the hardest, especially when it came to teenagers and adults, when that meddling helmet of bone was at its hardest. Thankfully, he had learned that he could get into that blessed cavity that held the prize of the brain; the powering agent for the rest of the body through the ear. Indeed, when the eardrum was ruptured and then blown out, the brain could be accessed with ease. Problem was, he still needed to return to Francesca, and that was the messiest of ways to get to the brain.

Rather, he employed the method of ripping open the scalp and pounding against the skull until it broke. Using his teeth that were immune to pain, he tore away the leathery coating of the scalp, and punched against that bone impatiently. He needed food more than anything in the world now; it was truly a need. If he didn't feed, he would become brainless and thoughtless, putting Francesca's meaningful life in jeopardy.

A bit further away, Francesca stared in horror and yet intrigue, watching as the man she had taken in pushed through that poor woman's skull and tore at her brain, swallowing eagerly. What kind of monster _was _he? What kind of man ran around and murdered people for their brain? She had read about those sorts of people, but… _Could it be?_ She glanced again, seeing his face and deadened eyes. How could she have not noticed that? People, no—_humans_…they had a glimmer in their eyes. But Ivan…he was no human. Was he really an undead nightmare? A man incorrectly resurrected?

In other words…a zombie?

**A/N Alright guys, because I feel weird thinking everyone's gonna be asking, when Ivan sees memories of Francesca, he takes the part of a doppelganger, meaning it's in first person. That's why I wrote it that way.**


	4. Chapter 4

Oblivious to him being watched, Ivan continued his feat, taking great pleasure in the taste of the meat and not paying much attention at all to the memories the organ held. Only memories relevant to Francesca were worth seeing and paying heed to.

Grey juices and blood dripped from his mouth and chin, smearing away the foundation and revealing the true gangrene of dead human flesh. The sight made Francesca gag; she ran off for home before she could make too much noise and reveal her location. If Ivan was still hungry…she didn't ant to consider that.

Pleased with his handiwork, Ivan wiped off his face on the corpse's clothes, knowing she would never need them again. Eating someone didn't make them a zombie; you had to infect them with one's 'polluted' gene and let it spread. Otherwise, zombies would already be running rampant.

After a bit, he left the scene, ready to return to Francesca and come up with an excuse such as that he needed to get some things from home, supposing she asked. The rule of guarding against suspicion was that unless someone asked, you didn't explain yourself.

She was already home, pacing and debating what to do. She had allowed a zombie into her home as though he were a friend, thinking he was injured. Had the presumed chest pain been a fraud for trust, or had the pain truly been there? Either way, she needed to be on her guard. He would get quite the surprise when he came back. If he didn't give her answers—why was she so angry when she should be afraid?

When he returned to Francesca's house, he paused for a moment before stepping inside. _Was there blood on him? Juices, maybe? _ Checking in the glass, he got positive feedback. Mercifully, the quick wipe had been sufficient enough in making him clean again.

Mustering up the necessary courage to open the door, he did such a thing, albeit more cautiously than he had ever done anything before. Disappearing and then coming back after so short a time…would it not seem shady? Or perhaps Francesca would see no need for alarm.

"Why did you come here?" Ivan heard Francesca's voice laced with fear, and he knew she had somehow found out. "Were you planning to devour my brain after we became somewhat close? Is that it?" She stepped toward him, arms crossed. "Who are you?"

"I told you. My name is Ivan."


	5. Chapter 5

"I told you. My name is Ivan." He said, feeling his heart break. "I don't want to eat you…not ever. It's nothing like that. Please…trust me." He would never hurt him. He would be forever damned to loneliness and the sensation of being alone forever. But who would ever want to be known as friend to a zombie. "I really wanted to be with you."

"No!" She shrieked, posing herself as she had done in the memory of the fencing battle with Charles. "You're trying to fool me! You're a demon; a man of death!"

"Please…" Ivan begged, wiping the foundation off his face to show off his rotted, grey-green flesh and molded eye sockets. "I would never try to fool you. Please trust me. It's not my fault I'm like this."

Francesca watched in horror as the zombie reached under his shirt and pushed past the aged, worn surface of the flap of skin that acted as a weak shield to his heart. Zombies needed no heart; their brain was all they needed to survive.

Wincing once, Ivan pulled out the heart and shoved it towards her as though it were a prize. "I no longer need this, Francesca." He said, staring at her intently. "For my heart no longer beats. But my brain…it needs love. And I love you. I wanted to tell you, but I knew you would run away. For weeks, I've been eating the brains of people close to you, old lovers and stuff. And they make me feel alive. _You_ make me feel alive, thoughI'm dead. I'm sorry my flesh is dead and rotting; that my heart can no longer beat for you. But…" He paused here, unsure of how to go on. Resorting to the first thing that came to mind. "But I really…love you. And I'll love you forever. Until we are torn to bits by death and those who hate us."

Francesca swallowed and backed away, shaking her head. "No. You can't love. It's…impossible."

"The heart…doesn't create love, Francesca. Though it hurts when one's love is unrequited." At this, he sighed. So many people thought the same as she did; that one could love so long as one's heart was intact, forbidding Ivan from love. And, of course, they were wrong. Love was produced by the brain; your heart ached because of what people told you. "If my heart were still beating…it would be for you. I promise."

"But…it's not." She continued to back away, the twilight that had dimmed the streets on both of their journeys adding to the fear. _Didn't zombies get more powerful during the night?_

"Francesca, don't run. Please…don't run." He practically begged, extending the hand with the heart clasped in it. "I never meant for you to find out. Don't leave me…please don't leave me."

Rather than abiding by and paying heed to what he had said, Francesca turned and ran, refusing to stay there and possibly be eaten.

Groaning, he put the heart back in his chest and gave chase to the girl, not wanting to scare her further but knowing there was no other choice; he couldn't bear to lose her after so long a wait to meet and speak with her.

She ran upstairs and pushed open a door, gasping for breath. Looking around, she stopped to catch her escaped breath and swallow, just to see Ivan standing there, giving her a smile. As she screamed, she ran off, away from the zombie.

The same thing happened as she ran back down the stairs, going through hallways and opening virtually every one of the doors to the outside, making it a grand total of three times. And every time, Ivan was there, ready and armed with a smile that began to lose its meaning after time.

When she went back to the front door where the chase had begun and he was there to greet her, she screamed and fainted, falling into his arms.

Pausing for a second, he lifted her ever so gently and walked around the house until he reached her room, placing her down on the soft bed with her hands clasped over her chest in the typical position for those who had fallen to death.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, hesitating yet again before he kissed her. He didn't know if that would change her, and a new part of him hoped that it would. If she could exist without fear of him…think of the times they could have together. They could live anywhere, free from the barriers life set up.

He turned away, ready to leave her here, for she would never accept him now. Not now that she knew that he was a zombie; the things of nightmares.

Francesca awoke, her skin already rotted and her eyes losing their glint. She saw how he had come back, trying to act as though nothing were wrong.

She put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn. When she saw his eyes, she gave an awkward smile.

Smiling back, he moved away the hand and took it in his own. The smiles were exchanged, and they stood there, not caring about anything in the world.

They would be forced to exist for all of eternity, but at least neither would be alone for that time.

**A/N Sorry for the slight overlap there, everyone. I wrote Ivan's dialogue and then decided it didn't work because of the text that came after. I hope you enjoyed this story, because this is the last chapter! ^^ Have a good day and thanks for reading!**


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